


Impression

by XzadionOmega



Category: Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Deepground, Gen, Tsviets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XzadionOmega/pseuds/XzadionOmega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combat demonstrations and first impressions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distantglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantglory/gifts).



> A while ago, DistantGlory asked for Went fluff and it turned into Argent being impressive. Might have more chapters later that actually has Went in it, but have some awesome Argent.

            Argent took a deep breath upon entering the large room that was to serve as the training grounds for the new Tsviets. The _first_ Tsviets, she amended to herself. These would be the first, alongside her, and she was to train them. Argent would be responsible for shaping these warriors, taking the talent that had earned them their titles, and refining it into the strength befitting the colors that they proudly wore.

            Argent hadn’t received too many instructions about handling these new Tsviets. Her instructions went “Be firm, be cautious, feel free to use the highest disciplinary action if things get out of line,” and then she was dismissed with five personnel files (three rather thick, one slightly filled, and one nearly empty) tucked under her arm. No photographs had been issued, but the information was staggering enough.

            What stood before her was a motley assortment of soldiers at best. A large man whose head nearly touched the ceiling; a young woman examining her nails; a teenage boy with large metal wings strapped to his back; another teenage boy, the only one who happened to look up when Argent walked into the room; and a small girl whose entire body could have easily fit inside the first man’s hand. Argent could easily guess who was who among them. Unlike other teaching situations, Argent’s arrival had cut off no conversations. At the same time, no buzz of conversation overtook them at the sight of her. The silence that filled the training area stayed thick and heavy.

            _May the Gods give me strength_.

            “Good morning,” she announced. “My name is Argent. I will be your advanced combat training instructor. I expect that you all know why you are here, and I don’t want to waste any time, so if there are no questions, we will begin. Are there any questions?” Shelke raised a nervous hand into the air. “Yes, Shelke?”

            The girl opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. She shifted from foot to foot. Finally, she reached a hand up to her face.

            “Speak, Shelke.”

            “She wants to know what happened to your eye,” Nero replied in a clipped tone. “She’s too afraid to say it aloud.” Shelke’s cheeks burned pink with shame. 

            “I see.” The patch was still relatively new to her as well. Argent had told the story many times over the past two weeks, and it was as simple as relaying directions to the mess hall at this point. “I lost my eye as the result of a careless mistake. It is this kind of mistake that I hope to help you avoid.”

            There was a scornful laugh. “You can’t hope to keep your body together, yet you wish to train us?” Rosso laughed again. “You’re not fit to keep the title of Tsviet.”

            “Do you truly believe that?”

            “I do.”

            “Then come and fight me.” Argent raised her sword. “If you best me, I will resign as your instructor.” Rosso blinked incredulously. Argent noted her widened eyes, wondering if anyone had ever taken this direct of an approach with Rosso. “I do need the information on your combat styles in order to craft your new weapons anyway.”

            “New weapons?”

            “It would be unseemly for you to carry around the same weapons as any other soldiers. Consequently, I will be crafting new weaponry for each of you. However, I need your combat styles to determine how to proceed, and playing along with Rosso’s test is a practical way to gain an understanding of her style. Will you fight, Rosso?”

            Rosso drew a common blade from her side and charged forward. Argent blocked Rosso’s attack and shifted her weight to one side. Rosso staggered forward; an opening. Argent came up behind her quickly and pressed her blade against Rosso’s back. Rosso froze; either she had underestimated Argent’s readiness, or directly overpowering her foes was how Rosso had always gotten by.

            “Do you submit?”

            “No,” Rosso hissed. She fell forward, bringing Argent down to roll over her back, and the fight continued.

            For a while, it was very similar to the first trading of blows. One would get the other into a difficult situation, and the other would find a way out of it. Again and again, until finally Rosso lacked the strength to follow through with a blow. Argent had been using Rosso’s own energy against her, depending largely upon momentum. Argent pinned Rosso face-down on the ground and held her blade against the exposed back of the other woman’s neck.

            “Yield.”

            “… I yield.”

            Argent got up and extended a hand to Rosso. Rosso snubbed the gesture, choosing to get up on her own accord. While her face didn’t redden as Shelke’s had, Rosso still avoided the eyes of her peers.

            “You have immense power,” Argent said, quietly so the others would not overhear them.

            “Do not patronize me, or I will gut you as you sleep,” she snapped.

            “No one is patronizing you. You have immense amounts of power, but you need control. Power is not your only strength. I hope to teach you that.” As Rosso walked back to the line of the other Tsviets, Argent turned to face them. “Who would like to be next?”

            No one responded verbally, but the eyes of both teenage boys went wider than tree trunks. If nothing else, she had impressed them. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written them in FOREVER, but I hope this is acceptable. Nero and Weiss being creepy, and Argent being... receptive to it.

            Argent had been the advanced combat trainer of the Tsviets for two weeks. She had met them a total of six times and their deficiencies were already becoming apparent, and most of Argent’s job was turning those weaknesses into strengths. Shelke’s lack of combat prowess meant looking at evasion and small, fast attacks. By contrast, Azul’s lack of speed meant focusing on his area of attack. Such were the things that Argent considered in her newfound, disconcerting silence.

            “Cycloptic” was a term that had been bandied around behind Argent’s back since the day she lost her eye. Following gasps of various volumes, it was the most common reaction Argent had to walking down any new, populated hallway. All of that was as normal as grass blades in a field and Argent had grown accustomed to it. As if the birds in the trees had been silenced at once, it was the quiet that disconcerted her. It was the quiet to which she sought a solution.

            Instead of a solution, she found the two brothers in her course. Around any given corner, in any given hallway, Argent would find Weiss and Nero, speaking quietly to each other in the spare minutes between various courses and tests. Standing out in the crowds of recruits, they whispered to each other while the fearful eyes of other recruits attached to them. Each time Argent came upon the brothers, Nero’s head would be close to Weiss’ as they talked, his words lost in the tumultuous murmurs in the hallway. Each time she was within twenty feet of them, Weiss’ eyes would drift to Argent’s and Nero would turn around while beads of sweat ran down the faces of his peers. Within ten feet, each would straighten up. At five feet, Weiss would give a lazy combination between a wave and a salute, making the nearest recruit flinch.

            “Instructor.”

            “Doing well?”

            “Very well,” Nero replied. “And you?”

            “I am well.”

            By that point, Argent would have passed them and every recruit gave a sigh of relief. Even if Argent had turned around, Nero would have doubtlessly slipped into the shadows in that unnerving way that he did while Weiss gave a low chuckle. It didn’t take a brain augmented by G-cells to understand what was happening; Weiss and Nero were behind the tense silence that trailed Argent down each hallway.

            The real question was “Why?”  

            Argent’s understanding of DeepGround was that no one did anyone a favor just to be nice, least of all did Tsviets do this. If Weiss and Nero believed that they were doing something nice by enforcing this silence by their presence, they doubtlessly wanted something in return. Their motive lingering in the back of Argent’s mind during their classes, during her own classes, and even as she tried to sleep at the end of the day. Good marks could never be their motivation; Nero was good, and Weiss was better. Argent had little actual authority over them, and was hardly in a place where she could grant a boon to them in return.

            Rather than look for reasons she could not pin down their motivations, Argent began searching for ways that she _could._ She was on equal footing with them, and she could use this to her advantage. On the third day of hushed quiet, Argent made up her mind to do away with the mind-games of DeepGround and simply ask them. Arranging such a meeting was simple; she was their instructor.

            After they were showered, still shaking water from their hair to dot their uniforms, they stood before Argent while she folded her hands on top of weapon schematics. An exact mirror of Weiss’ usual greeting, Nero’s cheekbones became more apparent behind his mask; his way of smiling. “Instructor.”

            “Doing well?”

            “Very well,” Weiss drawled. “And you?”

            “Better than Agytho,” she replied. “I have heard that he had to be placed into the infirmary last night.”

            “Was he?” Nero’s tone was light. “How unfortunate for the lad.”

            “He was _your_ bunkmate, Weiss. What do you have to say about it?”

            “It’s a tragedy.” Weiss’ smile said it was hardly the tragedy his voice would convey.

            “I cannot say that I disagree. He was a detractor of mine, though. I don’t suppose you were aware?”

            Nero started to answer, but taking a single breath was as far as he got before Weiss came forward. “We were aware. I heard him saying exactly what he would do to you, given the chance. You might find that’s why his teeth are gone.”

            Argent’s brow rose. “You took his teeth?”

            “Just one.” Weiss held out a hand in front of Nero. A cloud of darkness formed over his hand and dropped a single, tooth into his waiting palm. “A token of our esteem.” Weiss ceremoniously placed it in front of her. “For you.”

            Argent was torn between a scream and a more violent reaction. “Why?”

            Weiss shrugged. “I can’t speak for Nero, but I respect you.”

            “I do as well,” Nero chimed in.

            “So you took out a man’s tooth?”

            “And shattered the rest.”

            “Because you have respect for me?”

            “Correct.”

            “I see.” Argent nodded, slowly. “I... Appreciate your efforts, but I will ask that you don’t assault the other recruits anymore.” Turning her gaze to rest Nero, she continued, “You will not be able to hide under cover of darkness forever.”

            “Understood.” Nero’s eyes crinkled again. “Thank you for the advice, instructor.”

            “We’ll be more careful now. Are we dismissed?” Argent nodded. Weiss opened the door for his brother and slipped out after him. Just as he was about to close the door, Weiss stuck his head back in. “Enjoy the tooth, by the way. I recommend making a necklace.” Cackling at his own joke, Weiss left.

            Argent stared down at the tooth—the “small token” of Weiss’ and Nero’s esteem—before tucking it into her pocket and continuing with her work.


End file.
